Beautiful
by Pandorasbox917
Summary: And in that moment, the agony in his eyes was beautiful. What Beckett thinks of Norrington. Post POTC 2 vauge spoilers
1. In His Eyes

Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be, not doing this for profit.

A/N: Normally I'm a Norrington/Gillette girl all the way. But Beckett is intriguing to write. I just hope my Gillette muse doesn't kill me for this. This isn't supposed to be slashy, but I guess you can take it that way shrugs.

Beautiful people are often the ones who end up hurting the most. Others want a piece of their beauty and will not hesitate to steal it forcefully.

Beckett was not a beautiful person.

He was a connoisseur of all things attractive though: clothes, paintings, architecture, furniture, and people. He was always dressed impeccably, his home finely designed and furnished, accompanied by sunning, exotic women.

Perhaps he hoped that, somehow, their radiance would be reflected back upon him.

It never worked.

James Norrington was a beautiful man. Beautiful inside and out. Beckett loathed him. The James Norrington that he had first met, many years ago, was kind and caring and honest. He looked at you like he cared about you; he listened like what you were saying was the most important thing in the world. He could see your pain and you know that he would weep for you.

Beckett had hoped that this angel would be destroyed by the harsh life of a sailor.

Upon his arrival in Port Royal, he knew that he was right.

This new James was broken, twisted, wild. His once god-like body was emaciated from months of abuse, radiant eyes now dead. He moved like a hunted animal, every sentence wrought with anger brought on by sheer desperation.

Anyone else, and Beckett would have cast them aside. One look at Norrington and he felt his heart break. Handing over the official pardon, he stared the former Commodore in the eye, brushing hands as the leather satchel was exchanged.

"Dear God, James. What have they done to you?"

And in that moment, the agony in his eyes was beautiful.


	2. In the Dead of Night

A/N: This chapter is for Elske because she said she wanted to see another and because her Norrington stories inspired me to start my own. This is decidedly slashier than the first chapter.

A/N II : This also doesn't have anything to do with my other fic "In Dreams", but the beginning seems familiar.

Lord Cutler Beckett frowned at the figure next to him in the bed. James was tossing and turning, face contorted in a scowl. He supposed the man must be having a nightmare, but was at an absolute loss as to help. James didn't strike him as the type who would take laudanum, which was what took care of Beckett's own night terrors. Well at least James wasn't attempting to scratch his eyes out yet, a lovely little trait of his own. Still, men like James should most definitely not be whimpering into their pillows. It was time to do something. Beckett reached over and shook James' shoulder.

He was reminded immediately of the naval alertness that never leaves a man as he felt the long fingers wrap around his neck. Blue eyes widened in shock and horror at what he was doing, and thoughtfully removed his hands before they crushed Beckett's windpipe.

"Damn."

The curse was unnatural in that cultured voice. Beckett shook his head at the vulgarity.

"It's nothing James."

"Don't ever do that again. Shout or something if you need to wake me up."

Beckett felt hope rising in his chest, an unfamiliar sensation. James spoke as though there was a chance at another night such as this.

"Sorry. You were having a bit of a rough dream."

Norrington shook his head, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear.

"It happens with regularity when you have seen so many of your friends-"

The former Commodore broke off, eyes trained on the sheets. Beckett moved closer to James, racking his brain to provide some kind of comfort.

"Surely you would have known better than to make friends with your men, you must have known there was such a risk."

"If you ever had the chance to meet Theodore Groves, you wouldn't have been able to help becoming his friend. And then there was Gillette…"

Beckett nodded, remembering the sarcastic redheaded midshipman, the one that followed James closer than a shadow at their first meeting.

"What happened to him? How did he-"

Norrington's face shot up and Beckett was relieved to see that, at last, there was some passion in his eyes.

"Don't. Ask."

"Ah."

"Same night that Groves died. Fitting that they should at last be together."

"And here I was sure that he was an old flame of yours."

"I wouldn't have put him in that sort of danger."

Beckett felt his insides turn to lead.

"You put yourself in that sort of danger."

James shrugged. The smaller man felt his temper begin to rise.

"You put me in that sort of danger."

Norrington reached over and pushed away a curl that had flopped over Beckett's forehead before moving his hand lower to caress his cheek.

"I'm sure that you can take care of yourself."

" I can. I can take care of you as well, if you let me."

The words came out laced with arrogance. Norrington let the tone slide.

"I know. I don't need to be taken care of."

They were back to the same empty voice that had echoed around Beckett's office earlier that day. But he was not going to let it slide as easily as James.

"Norrington, for God's sake! Just hours ago, you were found drifting on the ocean because you stole a beating heart from some quasi-alive pirate! I needed to give you a royal pardon that was meant for Jack Sparrow of all people, we had mind blowing sex afterwards and you just had a nightmare about some friend's demise! React man!"

Beckett grabbed Norrington's shoulders, hoping that the chocking wasn't a reflex whilst he was awake as well. He shook the other man, feeling how thin his arms had gotten.

"Show me that you are still alive and that I didn't waste parchment and ink, rescuing a dead man from the gallows."

The force of Beckett's outburst shocked both of them. Norrington gently removed the hands from his shoulders and pressed a quick kiss to Beckett's mouth.

"I'm still alive."

He pressed one of those soft hands to his chest, just over his own heart. Beckett dropped his voice to a whisper.

"Barely there. But there none the less."

Norrington sighed gently.

"I don't know how to hold on anymore. Maybe you could show me."

Beckett laughed at the irony of it all.

"I'm the last person who would ever encourage someone to prolong their miserable life."

"Maybe it isn't looking so miserable anymore." There was a question in that voice and a blossom of hope was slowly closing over the pain in those eyes.

Beckett pulled James close, praying to whatever was listening that he didn't ruin **this**, what ever this was going to be.


	3. In the Eye of the Storm

The rain seemed as thought it would never end.

Norrington stood by the window, watching the storm-swollen waves crash onto the beach. A chilly breeze was sweeping through the house and he wrapped his arms around his body in and attempt to warm himself. Saunders hadn't brought firewood in, the poor man was laid up in bed with swollen joints. Neither Beckett nor Norrington had the heart to disturb him, especially when James was perfectly capable of lighting the fireplace himself.

Norrington smiled in fondness when he thought of the old valet. Saunders had cared for Beckett since childhood and was fiercely devoted to the man. He turned a blind eye to Norrington's suggestive presence in the house, clearly accepting his master's choice in companions. Whenever Beckett would emerge from the bedroom in a slightly better mood, Norrington would find that the old man had prepared some of his favourite foods at the next meal.

They both had a soft spot for the lost cause known as Cutler Beckett.

Norrington glanced around the parlour, wincing at the flowered wallpaper that so perfectly matched the horrible upholstery. He was sure that it was the latest from London, but the sheer _ugliness_ mad him a bit ill. Norrington couldn't help but think of what Gillette would have said about it.

"_Those are pansies James." _

"_I know Armand, I know."_

"_PANSIES! He's a bachelor and yet he decorates his home with pansies!" _

"_So I observed."_

"_And he's probably the sort of swot who makes fun of the French for being feminine." _

It should have perhaps disturbed him that his imagination was mixing with his memory. Without the dullness that came from a bottle of rum, James was free to feel the loss of the closest friends. He glared at the wallpaper, as though it was its fault for bringing up thoughts of Gillette.

"For God's sake James, it's only wallpaper. It won't bite if you don't provoke it."

Cutler stood behind him, looking irritable after a day of dealing with the " idiocy of the anarchy-minded peons" under the employ of the Company.

"You never know with pansies."

The other man shrugged and removed his hat, flinging it across the room.

"Rough day?"

"Quite."

A moment of silence and James returned to studying the pansies.

"You know what pansies stand for."

"They are symbol of free thinking, from the French _pensée, _or thought."

"True. I was thinking of something else however."

"If you are reffering to their connection with effeminent males then I will have to hurt you."

Norrington smiled and was rewarded with a quick upturn of Becektt's mouth. James walked closer to his companion, and gave him a once-over. The smaller man still looked exhausted and tense. On an impulse, James embraced him fiercly. Cutler patted his back awkwardly before pulling away.

"Shall we see what we can find in the kitchen without bothering poor Saunders then?"

Beckett took hold of James' hand to lead him out of the parlour.

James knew how to get to the kitchen. Neither wanted to admit that the contact was comforting.


End file.
